


Mother knows best.

by b0uchards



Category: AU Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Other, helen mirren - Freeform, martin freeman - Freeform, mirren!holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0uchards/pseuds/b0uchards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's mother comes for a visit, which naturally, ends badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother knows best.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these characters. I wanted to do something with Helen Mirren as Mrs Holmes, especially considering I love the dreamcast and I adore both Helen and Sherlock as a fandom. I'm sorry if this is a little dry, it's been at least 6 months since I've written any form of fanfic.
> 
> Feel free to comment.

The flat was quiet. John sat with his back against the back of the sofa, his eyes scanning one of the latest stories that was featured within the local newspaper. There was nothing truly interesting to read, but he assumed that the main reason for that was due to the fact that Sherlock hadn’t been in trouble for at least a month or so. The only truly interesting stories were those that featured the consulting detective himself and due to the lack of work being sent his way, it caused an unnerving normality to take over his life and the doctor was barely used to anything of the sort. But it was whilst reading about a local fundraising event that had been interrupted by a bunch of environmentally friendly-obsessed protestors, disputing with the local people due to their wasting of resources that John found himself jumping near enough out of his skin as the sound of Sherlock’s voice echoed around the room. 

“You have got to be kidding me.”

It was obviously unexpected, especially considering the dark haired sociopath had been quite content glancing out of the window and John found himself quickly responding, curious as to what the answer would be. After all, even though Sherlock had a short temper, he truly wouldn’t say something of the sort unless meaning to do so. 

“What’s up?” 

So, his reply was short, but of course, he found it an easier way to receive an answer. With Sherlock, being short and sweet seemed like the best option. He grew bored easily. 

“There’s a white limousine that has, exactly fifty seconds ago, pulled up outside of this building…” 

Taking a hesitant pause, John’s brow raised, waiting for the rest of the sentence to be uttered by the detective so that he could fully understand what the hell he was talking about. 

“And the same white limousine is the EXACT one that I remember being driven here there and everywhere in when I was a little boy.” 

With Sherlock’s words, John couldn’t help but chuckle, only lightly, the thought of Sherlock being a young boy being one that amused him. 

“Meaning?” John asked, proving that he was uncertain as to what Sherlock was referring to. 

“Meaning that my mother is here for a visit.” 

Even the mere sentence caused him the cringe, screwing his face up to prove is feelings towards such event. And it was then that John stood from his position on the sofa, placing down the newspaper with the page he was reading turned down and joined his friend beside the window, glancing out so that he could get a better look of the car. 

“So, your mother… is here?”

He spoke slowly, saying what was completely obvious and as Sherlock shot him a look as if to prove the stupidity of such utterance, the doctor merely shrugged his shoulders.  
It was now that a figure emerged from the backseat, a female with short, wavy white hair exited, her whole appearance showing one of class and importance, which only caused Sherlock to groan a little. John had learned that he was barely a family man, proven when around Mycroft and now as his mother paid a visit; it confirmed such fact even further. 

“She looks nice.” 

Resorting to complimenting the mother of the one man he knew he could really trust, John found himself puffing out his cheeks, attempting to say something resourceful but ended up saying nothing more at all. 

And it was when the sound of a knock on the door downstairs sounded that both Sherlock and John looked to one another, John’s expression showing optimism and Sherlock’s holding one that imitated a spoiled child who didn’t like one of their Christmas presents. 

Within a minute, the sound of footsteps traveled up the stairs and it wasn’t before long that the same female who had emerged from the limousine had appeared on the landing, her eyes directed through the open door, gazing straight over to Sherlock. 

“Sherlock, my darling.”

Her tone was soft, her accent an upper-class British one that curled around every word so elegantly. It seemed blatantly obvious as to the type of upbringing Sherlock had. John had figured that out when meeting his flatmates brother. Yes, it seemed Mycroft had been fed with a silver spoon whereas Sherlock had rebelled against the high class. It didn’t take much to figure that out. All you had to do was look around. 

“Mother.”

The detectives tone was dry, a lack of optimism and enthusiasm within his words. Perhaps it wasn't a warm welcoming, but it seemed as though the older female hadn’t expected anything less from her son. Her pursed lips proved just this and she seemed to nod to nobody in particular as if to confirm that her son would never change.   
“And how lovely it is to see you too, sweetheart. Aren't you going to give mummy a hug?”

John seemed to look on in amused disbelief, the thought of Sherlock giving in to paying the woman with such embrace caused a small, although barely noticeable smirk to appear across his lips. Sherlock didn't hug her, however.

“What do you want, Victoria? You never visit so I’m assuming you have an ulterior motive for being here. Due to your puffed under eyes, I can see that you’ve been crying. Has Franklyn left you again? I always knew he would be bad for you but you never did listen. All of those times that I’d pointed out evidence of his affairs, you ignored me.” 

The male was clearly going off on a tangent, typical Sherlock. John merely watched on in curiosity, attempting to piece the words being conversed together, which didn’t see too hard. After all, he had spent enough time with Sherlock Holmes to do his own deductions, no matter how easy it may have been to do so. And it was the expression on his mother’s face that proved Sherlock had been right but never did she admit it. It seemed clear as to where Sherlock’s stubborn personality came from. 

“I came to visit you, Sherlock. Isn’t a mother allowed to visit her son?”


End file.
